Mags Fanfic Part 1: Life in District 4
by No.1HungerGamesFan
Summary: This 5 part story will try to show the events of Catching Fire through the perspective of Mags, the elderly District 4 tribute.


Mags Fanfic Part 1: Life in District 4

"Mags?" Robert says gently as he kneels delicately beside me. "Why do you insist on waking me so early?" I mumble at him in anger but one look at his hurt expression makes me regret it. Over 60 years of marriage and we still argue like angry teenagers. Although there's not much cause to be happy out in Four, or any of the other Districts for that matter. In fact, I have it lucky here. There are districts, such as 10 or 12, where people die of starvation every day. "Sorry darling," he says sweetly "But I thought we could take a walk on the beach before it gets busy". He's correct, I think. Often, far before noon, Fishermen fill up the beach and fish for hours under the sun, desperate to get some food to support their families. "You're right" I stutter grabbing an old t-shirt and some faded shorts, "Let's go".

As soon as I pull on my sandy boots were out the door. A small village is on route and I gasp as I see passing a girl I know. She's a laughingstock to the cruel people that dare mock her. But there's a strong man who's with her a lot and he wouldn't tolerate their cruelty. She's alone, but she shouldn't be, people insist on keeping her in the house, away from any dangers in the District. There's talk of her attempting to drown herself during the night but I know she's not all gone. There's someone left in that scarred head of hers. "Come on, let's get you home" I say, feeling mean. She's a grown adult, and I don't wish to patronise but I can't have another death on my hands. We'll have to go back to the Victors village where she lives but I don't mind, were close with her.

When I was in the games (12th ) I used a trident to spear the other tributes to death. I still wake up on occasion screaming in guilt for what I did. I can vividly remember the look of pain, fair and horror as I thrust my trident into their necks, heart, and torso or anywhere I could get a clean strike. I was a career, and I had trained for the games and volunteered because I truly believed I could win and bring riches to my family. Now there all dead and I can still recall the gush of blood that came with the attack, and the horrible moment when my victim collapsed, their eyes rolling back into their skull, dead.

My arms are not what they used to be so Robert takes Annie and opens the door to her small, bungalow. Her friend, Finnick takes her in and looks up at us. Finnick is a man I know very well. I mentored him in his games and was so delighted when he won. Of course, he was only 14 and the tribute from 1 was expected to win. But he had something about him, something special and talented that influenced his win. Since then he's been the grandson I never had. I didn't dare have children in case they died in the arena at the cruel, bloodthirsty hands of the capitol. Luckily for me, Robert agrees with my view so I've never thought of having a child. "Thank you" he breathes with emotion, "I was just out looking for her" Annie doesn't even acknowledge the situation and blankly walks into another room. Finnick smiles at me and Robert before closing the door in front of us.

We continue down the path we walked down before until we encounter some stone leading down onto the white sandy beaches. The turquoise water laps onto the bay as the beaming summer sun beats down on us. Living in the tropical part of Panem has its perks. When I visited 8, it never stopped raining for two weeks! At the bottom of the path, I see a small round stone and toss it into the waters. It lands by a cove not far from where we're standing. "Want to check out the cove?" I ask Robert. He nods and I begin to run towards it. It turns into a race, we're both fit for our age and either one of us could die tomorrow so why not? Triumphantly I stop about 3 metres ahead of him at the cove. I had won! I wait for Robert to catch up to me and he starts talking about a subject I had much preferred he wouldn't mention. "What do you think the twist will be this Quarter Quell?" He asks curiously, his grey hair blowing in the sea breeze. He would hate me calling his hair grey, I think smiling to myself, Silver he insisted. I ponder his query until I have an answer. "Well we've seen both" I begin, "Both were cruel and degrading". The 25th when people were chose, made it especially painful. I would hate to have been chosen then. That feeling of not being loved, not belonging and being chosen by your peers to go and die. That had to be the worst feeling a person could have.

Equally in the 50th, there were 48 tributes, and that was dreadful. The arena was so beautiful and distracting that ¾ of the tributes died in the first day. Haymitch was a name I remembered and respected. An awful shame, I thought, that he had turned to alcohol. Its I wonder I haven't by now. "Well, its reaping in a month" he says quietly, "We'll know soon enough". So we just sit there, at the mouth of the cove thankful that for now, we weren't in an arena, hacking other people to death in a desperate plea to stay alive. For now, that is.


End file.
